


Closer Still

by hajimi



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, implied sex, more tags on the go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22295389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hajimi/pseuds/hajimi
Summary: He was not prepared for this kind of collapse.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Closer Still

**Author's Note:**

> hello guys there is like 0 content regarding orin and drifter which is pretty much a crime if you ask me so here i am, taking matters into my hand. 
> 
> i don’t think this will be linear, it’s more of my interpretation of the bits and pieces of lore that i’m putting together (i know season of the drifter is over yada yada, but i am poor and had no time to put this out before, i just finished all my invitations)
> 
> also, please leave me a comment and let’s discuss this in teams, ok?

They kept making up excuses.

Patrols, retelling of old stories he already knew by heart, help dismantling a new weapon she found the other day while exploring, having a drink and sharing their pent-up feelings.

Excuses, and more excuses to see him again.

He was no Namqi, and he definitely couldn’t fill the gaping wound her lover left the moment she learned about his death. He was precious, and she was devoted.

But Wu Ming was a bonfire in the winter, and she couldn’t help but crawl towards him.

He enabled her, and truth be told, she felt a tinge of guilt gnawing at her bones everytime she heard hushed _i love you’s_ as he covers her skin with kisses and marks, while she pretends to be too consumed in the pleasure, she can’t hear them. But it was his fault for being so good at everything. From the way she saw stars with the mere touch of his fingers, to the sense of ecstasy everytime he sank inside her, their bodies like two ships crashing during a storm, her thought reduced to a stream of ‘ _more, more, more’_ with each thrust against her core. Her senses overloaded when his hands roamed around her body and _his mouth_!

No amount of queensfoil had ever made her this high. He was hers, and she was complete.

The moments of bliss were accompanied with the aftermath of their lovemaking, both exhausted and nimble, nestled under the sheets of her makeshift bed, in the back of her ship. Her fingers tracing every curve of his face while he sleeps and she drinks in the rush of endorphins.

She kisses his forehead, then his nose, then his cheeks, then the corners of his mouth, careful as if he was made of glass and her lips were to break him. He doesn’t stir, he’s too tired and he trusts her enough to not sleep half-alert. Yet, his hands rests on the curve of her hips, while half her body is on top of him, her head resting on his chest after kissing his face long enough to be satiated.

One hand traces the scars in his abdomen, as she wonders which story fits which scar, for she was sure she knew all of them. She soon drifts to sleep.


End file.
